Encounters with a barber
by auberjeanne
Summary: Not really a story, more like a piece of descriptive prose that doesn't really start anywhere and it doesn't finish either


'There's no place like London.' He said, although his eyes and told a rather more apathetic story. I was rather nervous to be around him: his eyes had dark circles underneath them, showing he had insomnia or something similar, his hair was ruffled and untamed, which must have been odd for a barber to have such brutal hair. But what was really unnerving was his fondness of his razors, and he had at least two on his person at every minute. Which is normal, for a barber. Just not a demon barber.

I clasped my hands in front of me on the window pane. The rain splattered on the windows, making gentle noises and allowing the last light of the day to form pretty rainbows on the floor. He must have known I was a little uneasy, as he said 'Do you want me to put my razors down?' I shook my head, but didn't say a word, and continued to survey the urban landscape with him at my side.

'You don't have to be so uptight around me you know.' he said. 'I'm not going to hurt you.' His eyes latched onto mine, and gazed deep.

'I'm not uptight. Just unsettled.' My voice showed me up, it quivered as I spoke.

He seemed a little confused. 'And why do you feel like you have to be unsettled around me?'

I took a deep breath, hoped he would not hate me for this, but I could not lie to him. He'd suss me out either way I took it. 'Well, you slit your wife's throat, along with many others, put them into pies that many unsuspecting customers ate, burned your partner in crime alive in her own baking oven, and told your own daughter to forget your face whilst drenched in Mr. Turpin's blood. You always carry knives with you, and always expect to use them in one situation or another.'

We unhooked our eyes from one another and looked out of the window again. There was a silence, but not as awkward as it should have been - we respected each other's thoughts. He turned to me and said 'I don't see how that has anything to do with it.' And laughed faintly.

The strange thing about his laughter is that you weren't quite sure if it was supposed to be jolly or a cackle - but whatever he did, he always sounded a little menacing. I suspected it must have been the bitterness of being sent away from his wife and child for fifteen years, being replaced so quickly by a magistrate of court, and when he returned he expected a family to be waiting for him. Yes, that must have been the transformation between Benjamin Barker and Sweeney Todd.

'Tell me,' I spoke softly, 'What were you like as Benjamin Barker?'

He squinted out of the window, and didn't respond to me for a few minutes. I waited patiently for his answer.

'Happier.' He said, simply. 'I had a beautiful wife, and a daughter that was to look just like her, with her long yellow hair. Of course, Johanna's hair was short at the time, she was only a baby before I was taken away. But she was going to be beautiful too. She was to be beautiful too… I was a respected barber. I gave the closest shave any man could ask for. Now I am looked upon as a demon.'

'That's because you are.'

He went quiet again. 'Do you see me as a demon?' he asked.

I wasn't sure what I thought of him right now. He had done many felonious things, but here he seemed so quiet, undisturbed. Lonely, in fact, up in the apartment above Mrs. Lovett's abandoned pie shop. He often sang about Johanna, that he'll never hold his girl again, and how his Lucy lies in ashes. I don't expect he had many customers either. If one was smart enough, which in London, few were, you could see that the men would go in the barber, but not go out. You would smell the stink of burning flesh that was hidden in the smoke that arose from the chimneys. You would notice that the blood on Mr. Todd's shirts were from far more vigorous wounds than that of bleeding and leeching.

'I certainly used to.' I replied. 'But now, I don't thing I do.'

'You're one of few, Miss.' He must have been lonely, for he turned around, caught my stare again, and locked me into his arms in an embrace. A little shocked at his behaviour, I responded, and held him close. I buried my face in his chest, and he buried his in my hair. The raindrops fell at the beat of our hearts, assuming Mr. Todd had not lost his recently. 'I'm very fond of you, Miss, I'm glad you don't hate me like the rest of London.'

'I couldn't hate you, Mr. Todd.' I don't know why I couldn't. Naturally, meeting someone who had executed crimes comparative to what the devil would do, I should loathe their guts. But Mr. Todd was… different. He did not have a mean heart. He was tinged with despair, which had grown into frustration and anger, and he had taken this out as revenge. You couldn't blame Mrs. Lovett either, she had only wanted to increase her sales of her pies, as she had frequently periods when no customers paid her shop a visit. Together, thought, they became the demon barber of fleet street and the baker devil's wife.

'Tell you what, Miss. How about a haircut?' This offer was out of the blue, and I accepted with relish. He sat me down in the seat that so many people had met their end in, and started to cut.

He ran his hands through my coarse hair as he crafted it with his scissors. He was an artist with a blade, and as many locks of my long, unkempt hair fell to the floor, his masterpiece grew, until my whole head of hair was lush and lively. He gave me a mirror, although it was cracked, for me to see what he had created.

I gasped with delight. 'It's beautiful, Mr. Todd!' He had taken almost no time at all, but produced something so fair within it. I pushed up the sides with my hands, and gleamed about the end result. He then brushed my hair with his own hands and smiled, as if showing affection to me. Then, suddenly, he took his razor and put it to my neck, gently nicking my skin. He let it linger there for a while, and then replaced it back on it's table.

'I'm sorry, Miss. I just can't break myself out of this habit.' He rested his head in his palms, wishing he hadn't made a fool out of himself.

'Sweeney, it's fine. Everyone needs time to adjust after proceeding with it for so long.' I told him, pitying him.

'No, it's not fine. I'm getting cravings for it. I started out of vengeance, and because I could. Now, I can't end it because I just can't not do it.' I could see that tears were springing to his eyes, and as a man, he desperately tried to hold them back.

'Sweeney.' I said. 'Let the blades loose on me.'

I removed my corset, leaving me bare in my petticoat, and stood with my arms out. I closed my eyes. I could hear his steps around me. Slowly, I felt the blades upon me. They did not sting, or inflict pain, I could see he had no intention of hurting me. But he could not resist allowing the cool metal blades to stain someone's skin, leaving them with marks upon their body, scars on their skin. The silver kissed and licked my arms and my back, and I opened my eyes to find Sweeney looking more relaxed now he had let out his tension, and my body decorated in red ribbons all over, beaded with little droplets of blood.

Mr. Todd cleaned me up, and laced my corset up at the back. I smiled at him, and let him slump in his chair, exhausted, and clearly wanting to sleep. I bent down, allowing our lips to touch briefly, before I was gone out of the door. I said to him 'Same time tomorrow?' to which he nodded in response, possibly not expecting me to ever want to come again after this encounter. We smiled again, clearly in love.

As I walked down the filthy streets of London, filled with strays and drinkers at this time of night, I thought to myself. My head told me _You can't live with a maniac like him. Look what he did to you - those scars will not heal, physically or mentally. He will break you down, he will finish you off. You can't love him._ And then, my heart told me, quite to the contrary.

_You can._


End file.
